


In my end is my beginning

by savvyliterate



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyliterate/pseuds/savvyliterate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, you have a fetish for going about marrying women in history who happen to look like your dead wife. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Tell me what part of that isn't vaguely disturbing?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In my end is my beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisziny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisziny/gifts).



> This was done for the Doctor/River fluff ficathon on Tumblr. The prompt was "The Doctor and Clara run into River on an adventure, River is posing as a queen or a significant person in history, the Doctor mentions she's his wife and Clara exclaims ""You're married to -insert name-!?!"" and its not until later that they can safely tell her that River isn't who she was pretending to be."
> 
> The title of the fic comes from a quote from Mary, Queen of Scots. This takes place after "The Name of the Doctor" and has heavy spoilers for it. Many thanks goes to Charina and Pam for the last-minute edit.

Of course, it had to be _her_.

Just when he thought he was gaining his feet, that he was dealing with his wife’s death properly – and denial was a form of dealing with it, he always insisted – she had to sweep back into his life in the middle of a bloody political mess where his and Clara’s very lives were at stake.

Naturally, he stumbled.

“My queen,” the Doctor managed as he and Clara were unceremoniously shoved in front of Mary, Queen of Scots, being restrained rather firmly by the guards.

The historic queen stood before them, as regal as they came, and the Doctor’s inner history nerd did a little tap dance. Not that he would admit to it, of course, he did have a reputation to maintain. He compared the woman before him to the portraits that survived on Mary. Auburn hair pulled back into a severe hairstyle, the utter height of fashion. That regal uplift of her nose and the oh-so-royal sneer as she gazed at them as if they were bugs she just scraped off the bottom of her shoes. There was something familiar about the face, but he put it off to having constant hallucinations about River. Really, it was quite normal to daydream your dead wife was in every historic figure you saw.

“Do you deny that you were found lurking in my dressing rooms?”

OK, maybe he imagined it was her voice purring out those demands as well. Really, he was still in mourning. He had another half millennia to go, at least.

“I lost something in there,” the Doctor stammered. After all, the real explanation of saying the TARDIS had landed in Mary’s boudoir wouldn’t go over exceptionally well either, and he was too busy trying to ascertain the queen to come up with a non-rubbish answer. Which was really sad, because he had about sixteen witty retorts right at his fingertips.

“What could one possibly lose among the queen’s gowns?” Mary demanded.

“Well, my sonic. Er … mighty little sword,” he corrected and brandished the sword as best he could. Pesky guards. Clara slapped a hand to her forehead, “but it really wasn’t my fault. We didn’t know it was your dressing rooms, did we, Clara?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Clara said with a quick nod. “Especially since we’re not supposed to be here in the first place.” She elbowed the Doctor. The guard restraining her barely blinked.

“That happens to be the first statement of common sense I have heard since this debacle began,” Mary replied. “You can tell me exactly how you came to be in my quarters to begin with.”

“Really, we were supposed to be in the 1700s, but the TARDIS is a bit tetchy today and …”

“Not helping, Doctor,” Clara hissed as Mary’s Privy Council did a magnificent show of lifting their eyebrows and coughing uncomfortably.

“So, you avoided my presence by hiding among my skirts?” Mary rose from her chair and descended the small platform. Her gaze raked him from head to foot with such searing heat that the Doctor shifted a bit uncomfortably while Clara gave the two a curious look.

“Let it be said,” Mary addressed her council, “that my new husband is exceedingly shy when it comes to performing his matrimonial duties.”

“Husband?” Clara squeaked as the Privy Council exploded into shouts, questions, and demands behind her.

“Silence!” Mary ordered, and the voices died away. “Have my groom escorted back to my chambers, where I shall address him privately. Take the girl to a guest chamber, show her every courtesy. She is not to be touched.” She winked at the Doctor and swept out of the throne room with her attendants at her heels while he gaped at her.

Clara grabbed the Doctor’s arm and tugged him to the side as the Privy Council had a collective heart attack. “OK, what’s going on? We’ve been here what, 20 minutes and you’re married to her?”

“We landed during the time between Mary’s first and second husbands,” the Doctor deduced. “Much too young to be after the whole mess with Lord Darnley, and she’s not in England’s custody. She was married to Francis II of France.  Try saying that three times fast. Now, theirs was an actual love match.” He frowned. “I don’t remember marrying Mary. Must do it later.”

Clara threw up her hands. "You can't be married to her. You _are_ married. I met her on Trenzalore, remember? OK, so technically she’s your dead wife, but still …"

"Well, really, the thing we should be more worried about is that I married her first cousin. Once removed, mind you, but that’s nothing in royal families.”

Clara blinked. “You married her cousin? Wasn’t her cousin Elizabeth I?”

“Perhaps. Maybe. Did you know you’re really good at your British history? Good on you, Clara Oswald.” He patted the top of her head.

“ _You married Elizabeth I?_ ” Clara squeaked in the loudest whisper she could.

“Yeah, Liz is still a bit cross over that one. Remember, Clara, she holds quite the grudge.”

“What did River have to say about it?”

“Oh, I married Liz before I married River.”

“And she didn’t have an issue?”

“She asked for video if Mary ever found out I married Liz. Have no idea why.” The Doctor tapped his chin.

Clara just stared at him and sighed. "So, you have a fetish for going about marrying women in history who happen to look like your dead wife. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Tell me what part of that isn't vaguely disturbing?"

At that point, the guards came along and muscled the Doctor away from Clara.

“How long should I give it before I come rescue you?” Clara asked as they were escorted in separate directions.

“Oi! I’m the Doctor, I do the rescuing!” the Doctor yelped.

Clara rolled her eyes and started looking for escape routes.

\-----

The guards put on quite a good show when they threw the Doctor unceremoniously into the royal chambers at the queen’s feet. Mary, for her part, was doing an exquisite job ignoring her new groom as she perused the papers spread over her desk.

“The casket letters. Said to be written in 1567, but fascinatingly enough, they were really written in 1563. Oh, but this is a long con to be sure, and quite a fascinating one. They’re real enough, always penned by Mary. It’s interesting how historians squabble over who wrote them, but it’s the _when_ they keep missing.” She set the paper she was reading on her desk and bestowed the Doctor with a sultry smile that had men begging at her feet. “Hello, sweetie.”

The Doctor pushed himself to his knees and stared up at his wife. Oh, he could see her properly now, face scrubbed of makeup and her hair freed from that hideous style to spill over her shoulders. He swallowed, hard, because he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. Not like this. He didn’t know when she was, but this was clearly a River that was close to the Library. Her hair was the same color she’d dyed it before making that final trip, the same as he’d seen on Trenzalore. It was like looking at her ghost all over again, the same one that haunted him for decades as he ran, ran, ran from her.

“By the way you’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost, you must have done Trenzalore.”

His jaw fell. There was a million, billion things he wanted to ask, to say. Too bad his brain emptied of every language he’d ever learned right at that very second.

“You know, a girl gets tired of waiting.” River picked up another letter; he noted the slight tremble of her hand. “I really need to thank Clara for what she did. She’s an amazing young woman, quite clever. I’ve always adored her, but now …”

“Clara saved you?” he whispered.

River set the letter down and gave him a tremulous smile. “She saved me.”

Clara. _Clara_. Brilliant, beautiful Clara, who had gone into his time stream to save him at thousands of points in history. He reached for River, his thumb skimming over her cheek. Her warm cheek. Her very _alive_ cheek, which had very real tears rolling down it and splashing on his thumb. Clara had saved River, and in the process had saved him again. Had saved his bruised and battered soul, lonely and weary from the loss of his Ponds, of his wife. His breath hitched and he didn’t bother to hide his own tears as he pulled her into his arms and wept into her shoulder.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” he whispered into the soft skin of her neck.

“Oh, sweetie. You didn’t realize the changes at the very end, but I did. I knew I would go back to the Library once the link was severed, but it was so different from the other times. I could feel the timeline being changed, and when I woke up, I was on the transport with the other 4,022. My entire team was there. Doctor, Clara saved all of us. I knew you wouldn’t realize it right away, so I had to go looking for –” Her explanation was cut off as he suddenly kissed her, a hungry, greedy kiss as mad and desperate as the one he’d given her on Trenzalore.

He had let himself take her kisses for granted, blindly assuming that they would always be there since that first heady rush after 1969 for him. Passionate kisses, needy kisses, gentle kisses, slow kisses, teasing kiss. Each and every one with an intoxicating rush of scent, taste, touch, feel, and River, River, River. Time, ozone, and just the barest hint of cleansing sandalwood. He threaded his hands through her curls, all matted and a bit sweaty from the hairstyle she’d corralled it into. He didn’t care, not one whit. It meant she was alive, and he was holding her, and he wanted to remain like this forever.

She pushed him until his back hit the carpeted floor, and she straddled him with all those billowing skirts puffing out around them. He often wondered, in the small amounts of time he allowed himself to wonder, that if Clara’s survival hadn’t been at stake that he and River would had done this on Trenzalore – audience and lack of corporeal body be damned. Now, he had the answer. Yes, yes, they would. This time, every time. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want her, even when he was so, so young and fighting the idea of her every step of the way.

He skimmed his hands beneath the skirts and up her thighs, delighted to find that she was historically accurate in her underclothes – or lack thereof. “You naughty woman,” he murmured as he kissed his way down the swell of her breast and wondered where he should touch first. So, he helped himself to the smooth curve of her arse, kneading the soft skin, pleased when she ground herself against him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you inspired Moll Flanders.”

She ran her tongue down the side of his throat, closing her teeth lightly over his double pulse. His hips bucked, and his arousal pressed into the hot wetness between her thighs. “Spoiler alert,” she whispered, “I did. Who do you think inspired Jemmy?”

Spoiler after spoiler meant there was more to come, with this her and younger her. It would be like spinning around and around on a merry-go-round, but he didn’t care. After decades and decades, she was back in his life. He couldn’t just see and hear her, but she was _real_. Utterly, magnificently real, and he forgot how to get his trousers off.

“Buttons,” River helpfully supplied, and he hastily undid his trousers.

He really wished he could say that their first time together in this new, marvelous era that he would term “After the Dark Times” was the stuff of legend, or at least very raunchy romance novels. But when one has been celibate for a good long time, on both their parts, it ended rather quickly. Her hand encircled him, and with a few steady pumps, he was beyond coherency. When her mouth closed over him, he toppled over the edge with a shout, hands fisting her hair as he bucked and trembled beneath her.

She got to her knees, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth as she stared at him with such lust that he had to reciprocate. He rolled her onto her back and gathered handfuls of her skirt, pushing the fabric to her waist. He kissed his way up her thighs, running his tongue along the crease before pressing soft, butterfly kisses over her folds. She squirmed above him, demands in several different languages rolling off her lips. He merely chuckled and parted her folds with two fingers, exhaling softly over her clit as she fisted the carpet. He teased her without mercy, his tongue lightly flicking the very tip of her clit as he slid two fingers into her. He’d almost forgotten the low, husky sound of her begging as her legs splayed wider. He hooked his fingers inside her and wrapped his lips around her clit. Just the right suction, the absolute correct twist of his fingers against that rough-smooth spot inside her and it took seconds before she let out a magnificent scream he was quite sure could be heard through the palace.

He smoothed her skirts back into place before taking her in his arms, quite content for the second. Oh, there would be more. There would always be more for them, and wasn’t that a miracle? As soon as he got her back on the TARDIS, he was going to strip her out of that gown and press his lips to every inch of exposed skin. He was going to worship her for days upon days and drown himself in her until he was utterly intoxicated with no hope of ever regaining his senses.

Except, he probably should take Clara home first. After he threw himself at her feet and thanked her profusely after apologizing for being a planet-sized git.

“Did you really think I was going to just abandon you?” he whispered against her curls.

“My love, I know how you feel about endings. You’ve always hated them.”

“Well … maybe not this one.”

“Oh?” River craned her neck to gaze at him, her fingers softly combing his fringe.

He smiled. “It’s a happy ending.”

Behind them, a goo-covered Clara appeared in the doorway, sword in one hand and a bow slung over the other shoulder. “Right, so it looks like half the Privy Council are Zygons, and it really explains so much. Now, Doctor, if you and River are quite finished shagging each other’s brains out, I could use some help taking care of this mess.” With a swish of her ponytail, Clara stalked away.

It took approximate 6.32 seconds before she appeared again, weapons clattering to the ground in shock. “ _River!_ ”

“Hello, darling,” River said, sitting up and fixing her bodice while the Doctor remembered his trousers were open and scrambled to fix himself before Clara noticed.

“Wait, so you’re Mary, Queen of Scots?”

“The real queen is off with her lover. Whom, actually, she’ll behead in about a week. Not because he was stalking her in her chambers like the history books say, but because she found him cheating on her with her chief groomsman.” River tut-tutted a bit. “And after he had finally talked her into using that dildo on him, too.”

Clara swallowed. “Right.” She pointed at River and raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. “Is she …?”

“Yes!” The Doctor scrambled to his feet and bounded over to Clara, kissing her on the forehead. “You don’t remember it, but you saved her.”

Clara broke into a joyful laugh as the Doctor spun her around. “I did? I saved her! I’m so glad!” She threw her arms around River. “He never said a word about you, which really is rather rubbish. Not healthy at all, my dad says. I was going to work on it, but you’re here, and you can help me knock some sense into him.”

“I look forward to it,” River said as a shrill voice echoed down the hall.

“Who dares intrude into my chambers?” They looked up to see the real Mary, who was disturbingly close to River in looks, standing at the end of the hall flanked by guards and members of her Privy Council. .

“Right, time to flee!” The Doctor grabbed Clara and River’s hands, and for the first time, they ran together.


End file.
